A Few Too Many
by Kissman
Summary: Carson. Hughes. A bottle of vodka...
1. Something a Little Different

**Chapter 1: Something a Little Different**

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><p><strong>AN I had a terrible day so I whipped this up to cheer myself up. Pure (drunken) Chelsie silliness from here on out.**

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><p><em>June 1924<em>

"Two whole days early, how on earth did you manage that?" Elsie Hughes voice rang merrily through the evening air. She had been fortunate enough to hear the car come up the drive and was there to meet Mr. Carson and the others as they arrived home from London.

"Just worked out that way I suppose," smiled the butler, pulling his bags from the car. "You are a sight for sore eyes Mrs. Hughes."

She blushed at the compliment. It had been months since she'd seen him and she couldn't have been more delighted that this day had come earlier than expected.

"I'm not sure we've dinner to feed you," she said, thinking of the meagre supper waiting for then downstairs, "We weren't expecting you until tomorrow."

"They ate on the train," he informed her, waving to the footman unloading the luggage. "I've a mind to send them to bed early, they're dead tired I'm afraid."

"I hope you are not too tired Mr. Carson, it would be a shame to break tradition."

They had a standing arrangement to meet for wine the first evening he returned from the Season. It was always one of their best chats after months of being forced to speak only through letters.

"I'll see you later," he assured her, hoisting the case over his shoulder.

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><p>"I've something a little different tonight, if you don't mind me bending tradition."<p>

"Oh?" It was their custom to crack open a new bottle of red wine the night he came back from the Season. A new bottle to come home to he'd said. This time he pulled a bottle of clear liquid from behind his back.

"It was a gift from a Russian friend of his Lordship, a whole case of them actually. I don't think he cared for it much, for he'd given it all away by the time we left."

"I didn't know his Lordship had Russian friends," said Elsie, inspecting the bottle. "Liquor?"

"Vodka," he confirmed. "What say you?"

He held the bottle up, not willing to open it without her express approval.

"I say lucky us," she said, feeling remarkably adventurous. She'd never had vodka before, but if it was anything like scotch she thought might like it.

He smiled, evidently pleased and poured a good measure into each of the glasses on the side table. She picked up her tumbler and swirled the liquid around.

"Cheers Mrs. Hughes." They raised their glasses and took a deep drink in unison. Then, also in unison, they spat it out.

"Good heavens, it's dreadful!" Elsie sputtered, the sharp taste burning her mouth. Perhaps starting with such a large amount had been a mistake.

Charles hid his coughing behind his hand. "I quite agree. I'm sorry Mrs. Hughes, I probably should have tasted it first." Charles was thoroughly embarrassed at serving her something so unpleasant. "I suppose I ought to fetch a bottle from the cellar."

A marvellous idea occurred to her. "Not just yet. Wait here, I'll be right back." She dashed out of the room leaving him quite perplexed.

She reappeared a moment later bearing a large jug.

"What's that?" he asked, frowning.

"Orange juice," she replied cheerfully. "We ended up with about eight gallons of it in the last shipment despite that fact that only her Ladyship really drinks it. Daisy's taken to leaving several jugs of it in the larder for the staff in an effort to get rid of it before it spoils."

"And what exactly do you propose to do with it?"

She feigned shock, "Mr. Carson, I assumed you were familiar with a cocktail. Isn't knowing the latest in drinks supposed to be your prerogative?"

He laughed at her dramatic delivery. "I'm familiar with the concept Mrs. Hughes, but I'm certain that not even in London anyone is drinking liquor and orange juice."

"Call me creative," she said as she poured the juice into their glasses, effectively smothering the offending liquor.

He didn't see the harm in trying it. She seemed in rather high spirits so her humoured her and took a sip.

"Mmmm," a low noise of appreciation escaped his throat. It was actually quite nice mixed together. Somehow the two flavours balanced each other out and the effect was quite lovely.

Elsie was surprised to find her little experiment had worked. "That's not half bad," she remarked, having tasted her own.

"An inspired choice Mrs. Hughes," said Charles, raising his glass to her.

Pleased that he liked it she beamed at him over her glass. She took another large sip. It went down easily now and she quite liked it.

"So, how was the journey?"

"As frightful as it always is," he smiled. He always said that, even the smoothest journey to and from was a dreadful one when hauling all that luggage. Now that he was home he wasn't all too concerned by it.

They talked easily, as if they'd never been apart. It was always like this. Every year he wondered if he would come back to find her changed, but he never did. They alternated between pouring juice and vodka in each other's glasses at regular intervals. It was fun to have something different and Elsie quickly stopped trying to keep track of how much he had poured her.

An hour later they had made a good dent in the bottle. Both of them were relaxed back in their chairs, delighting in the lovely concoction and the even lovelier conversation.

"We are going to need more juice soon," Charles remarked, gesturing at the near-empty jug. Elsie moved to get up but Charles stopped her. "I'll get it," he offered, "the larder?"

She nodded, giving a great sigh as he disappeared from the room. It was so wonderful to see him again. She always missed him terribly when he was away. Certainly more than she ought to, given their professional relationship, but she didn't dwell on it too much. _Sometimes it's okay to just be_, she thought to herself.

He hadn't realized quite how intoxicated he was until he'd gotten up out of his chair. There was a familiar tingling in his ears that he'd not felt in a long while. It wasn't too bad he figured; he probably wouldn't even feel it in the morning.

Oh how very wrong he was.

He returned promptly with the juice jug and triumphantly held it aloft. "Care for another Mrs. Hughes?"

"I'm in, if you are Mr. Carson." she said. It had been so long since she'd had the pleasure of his company and she didn't want the evening to end. He poured more juice into her glass, slopping a little bit on the floor as he went.

"Oh Mrs. Hughes I'm terribly sorry." Spilling something was a capital offence in his line of work. How careless!

"Never mind it now, we'll get a bucket and clean it up properly later." She couldn't have cared less, though she did privately smile at how flustered he was about it. She reached over and poured a healthy measure of vodka into his glass.

"Have a drink and don't let it fuss you," she instructed, pushing the glass into his hands. He obliged, having no desire to drag out a bucket of water now. There wasn't that much spilled anyways, it wouldn't matter. It still bothered him though, whether he wanted it to or not. It was in his nature to be bothered by such things.

Elsie noticed his furrowed brow as he tried not to look at the puddle of juice on the floor. Even late at night, in the privacy of his pantry he was still always going to be the butler. It made her a little sad.

"Do you think you were destined to wind up in service Mr. Carson?" she asked pensively.

"I don't know about destined," he said slowly, "maybe more so than some because I started so young."

Elsie nodded and he continued, "You don't think you were destined for this do you? I always got the impression this was your choice."

"It was," she wasn't sure how they'd gotten onto such a heavy subject. She'd started she supposed. "But sometimes it's nice to fantasize about being a different person."

He studied her carefully now. "Really?" he asked, "Do you ever wish that life had been different? That you hadn't chosen service?"

Elsie sighed dramatically. "I feel like we've had this conversation before."

Charles was unmoved. "So, let's have it again."

"Fine. I wish I'd been a fisherman's wife and spent my life shucking oysters," she said rolling her eyes at him. "Happy?"

Charles grinned at the image of her, barefoot on the beach brandishing an oyster knife. "You've not answered my question honestly," he pointed out.

"Who says?" she teased, her eyes lighting up, "for all you know none of the fishermen would have me and I was forced to settle for service."

Charles took a deep swig of his drink and threw caution into the wind. "Mrs. Hughes you could have married anyone in the village if you'd wanted to. Anyone in the world I reckon."

"Charles Carson, what an absolutely ridiculous thing to say." Why did he have to flatter her so? It made her feel all mixed up inside, all giddy, nervous, and terrified at the same time.

"It's not," he mumbled. The bottle was more than two thirds empty and it was starting to have quite the effect on both of them. "Mrs. Hughes you….you are a beautiful woman."

She was flabbergasted, and very lightheaded. "You think that?" she said, unable to wrap her head around such news. She'd never realized he'd thought of her as beautiful. What a very lovely thought.

"I have ALWAYS thought that," he insisted. "Thought that you were too pretty for words." His own words were starting to slur together. All traces of the normally ridged and proper butler had almost entirely disappeared. He was completely out of sorts and didn't care in the slightest.

"Mr. Carson that is…" Familiar? Discourteous? Inappropriate? "The nicest thing anyone has ever said to me."

As he stared at her sitting across the table from him in the glow of the kerosene light it struck him that she'd never looked lovelier.

"If I wasn't the butler I would tell you that every day." The liquor had made him bold, far bolder than either of them had thought possible. Somewhere in the back of his mind he worried that she was going to be terribly offended by his words, but it didn't stop him from saying them.

A mischievous smile spread across Elsie's face. "Let's pretend we're not," she said impishly.

"What?" He didn't quite follow.

"Let's pretend we're not the housekeeper and the butler. Let's pretend we're…Elsie and Charles."

He didn't know what that was to mean but he quite liked the sound of it. "What do Elsie and Charles do?" he asked her.

She hadn't thought it through this far. "I don't know. What could we do if we were simply Elsie and Charles?"

Charles eyes glinted with an idea. "Well," he said slowly, drawing out the word as long as possible. "I can think one thing."

Suddenly he was on his feet offering her his hand. "They could dance," he grinned at her. "The housekeeper and the butler never dance together. But Elsie and Charles could dance."

She grinned sloppily back at him and took his hand. He pulled her to her feet and she felt the room spin. Goodness, she was dizzy. She hadn't realized exactly how inebriated she was until she struggled to get her balance. He held her tightly to him in an effort to prevent her from falling right over.

"I think we may have over indulged Mr. Carson," she giggled. As a rule Elsie Hughes did not giggle, but she certainly did then.

"I think you might be right," he replied, "But I'm Charles remember?"

She grinned up at him. "Right. Charles."

_Gods she is wonderful_, thought Charles_._ She was ever so close to him. Much too close. He could smell her sweet perfume as he breathed in. It was heavenly.

"We've forgotten the music," she said as they swayed gently back and forth on the spot.

"Elsie and Charles don't need music," he countered.

She rested her head against his chest as they moved to the melody of an imaginary song. Vaguely Elsie wondered if this wasn't all horribly inappropriate, but the thought slipped away. There was no propriety or impropriety here. No rules, no duties, no anything. Just Charles and Elsie. She was completely unable to focus on anything but him. His arms were probably the only thing keeping her upright and that was just fine with her.

"Elsie?" his voice pulled her out of her thoughts and she tilted her head to look at him. He smiled as her blue eyes met his warm brown ones. One look from her and he was lost, never to be found again. She felt so natural in his arms, like she had always been meant to be there. She was Mrs. Hughes no more, just Elsie. With this final barrier tossed aside he cupped her chin and guided her lips to his.

It was sloppy and uncoordinated and so much less than the first kiss he thought she deserved, but it didn't matter. A wave of happiness washed over her as his lips crushed against hers. She felt inordinately dizzy now, but this time it wasn't the alcohol.

He must have felt it to because they stumbled backwards. Suddenly they both had two left feet and tumbled to the ground in a heap.

"Elsie are you alright?" his voice was filled with concern. Some how she'd ended up sprawled underneath him and he hurried to disentangle them. He would never forgive himself if he'd hurt her.

He needn't have worried. Elsie rolled over onto her back, positively breathless with laughter.

"Good Lord woman you frightened me," he exclaimed. Elsie laughed even harder and Charles soon joined in, unable to resist her merriment.

"Look at the state of us," she slurred, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes, "we are a right mess." She climbed into his lap, clutching at his shirt to steady herself. He gazed at her in delight, completely unable to understand how they'd gotten to this ridiculous, hysterical place.

"Charles?" she said turning towards him.

"Yes?" he said breathlessly.

"I think you better kiss me again. That last one was rudely interrupted."

He smiled and was more than happy to oblige her. She tasted like orange juice and he ran his fingers through her hair as he gradually pulled her closer to him. It was far easier to kiss her now with her sitting in his lap than it had been standing up. Charles had never been so grateful to be sitting on a cold wooden floor in all his life. She slipped her hands underneath his jacket, fingers trailing over his chest. She let herself become lost in his kisses, a picture of unadulterated bliss.

How long they carried on like this was hard to say. Eventually the alcohol made them weary and they nodded off to sleep, her head lolling on his shoulder, his arms wrapped fiercely around her waist.

If anyone had looked in on them, they would have thought they looked mighty uncomfortable lying on the floor like that. Come morning perhaps Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes would come to regret the unusual sleeping arrangement, but at the time Charles and Elsie could not have been happier.

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><p><strong>AN The first recorded mention of cocktails was in a British newspaper in 1798 but the concept of a screwdriver (by that name a least) wasn't documented until 1949. It's possible they weren't invented in 1924, or possible that it simply wasn't called that, but either way vodka was not a popular drink at the time by anyone's estimation.**


	2. The Next Day

**In honour of chelsie fan's birthday - A Few Too Many Part II! Be sure to go wish her a Happy Birthday and thank her for electing to share her present with all of you! **

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><p><strong>Part II – The Next Day <strong>

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><p>Pain was Mrs. Hughes's next reality. The sunlight streaming through the window made her head throb something awful. She groaned and nestled herself closer, hiding her face in Mr. Carson's chest.<p>

Wait. What?

Cautiously she blinked her eyes open, becoming more aware of her surroundings. She was sprawled on the floor with Mr. Carson's arms around her and oh how her back hurt! She pushed herself up into a sitting position, trying to wrap her head around what had happened. As if in response, he grunted and rolled over. She stared at him incredulously for a moment. What...how...?

There was a glass of water on the table and her mouth was so dry. She forced herself onto her feet to retrieve it, trying to ignore the seasick feeling it induced. Happily she gulped down several swallows. She turned back to the sleeping butler sprawled on the floor.

"Charles!" she hissed urgently. "Mr. Carson! Wake up!"

"Eh?" He awoke with a bit of start, clearly as disoriented as she had been. He put a hand to his forehead. "Ohhhhh"

"Here," she said, handing him the glass of water. She sunk back down onto the floor beside him, her back pressed against the desk. She tipped her head back, wondering at what point the room would stop spinning. Her dress was wrinkled and she could feel her hair coming down in places. She thought she must look an absolute disaster.

Mr. Carson blinked slowly, the light clearly bothering him. "What time is it?" he asked.

Mrs. Hughes glanced at the clock. "Still early," she reassured him. "Just before seven."

Her dress smelled faintly of orange juice, as some point she must have gotten some on it, somehow. Memories of the night before shot through her mind. Spilling the pitcher, dancing, falling to the floor because he'd...

...kissed her. Her hand flew to her mouth and a dizzy intoxicated feeling engulfed her. She dropped her head into her hands. That's what they had been doing on the floor, kissing. And it had been _wonderful. _

"Mr. Carson?" she asked shakily. "Are you quite alright?"

He sat up properly now, fully awake. "I think so," he said straightening his hopelessly wrinkled shirt. "My head feels terrible."

Her hands were trembling somewhat. "Do...do you remember everything? From last night?" she asked.

His heart dropped into the pit of his stomach as he remembered how perfect she'd felt in his arms, how soft her lips had been pressed to his. How could he have done such a thing!? "I believe so," he admitted shamefully. "Do you?"

"Yes," she whispered, not able to even look at him, her cheeks flushed in mortification.

He owed her an apology, he only prayed she would be able to forgive him. "Mrs. Hughes, I am so sorry. It was...completely appalling and inappropriate to-"

"No, Mr. Carson," she interrupted. He was not going to take the blame when it was just as much her fault. She would not let him do that to himself. "I think the kiss might have been my idea."

"The second one," he corrected, thinking of how he had been the one to bend down and kiss her first.

"And the third, fifth, seventh-"

"I lost track," he mumbled. "But your point is made." He finally was able to look up and met her eye.

She looked back apologetically at him. "So we're both to blame."

He nodded slowly, trying to absorb this new fact. Both to blame. Both to blame for what they did because they had both wanted...

His heart leapt from the pit of his stomach up to his throat so fast he almost sputtered. Taking a few deep breaths he composed himself. "Am I to understand, Mrs. Hughes," he said nervously. "That such actions were not...unwelcome?"

There was such hopefulness to his last word; she didn't feel quite so embarrassed about the truth, despite blushing furiously. "No, Mr. Carson. They were not unwelcome."

"Thank goodness, because-"

There was a sharp knock at the door and both of them scrambled to their feet, knowing that it was likely not locked and whoever was behind it might waltz right in on them.

"One moment!" called Mrs. Hughes, hurriedly pinning up the loosest pieces of her hair. As she finished she gave him a questioning look and he shrugged. It would have to do. "Come in."

It was Daisy, dishtowel in hand. "I came to tell you breakfast will be a bit late since everyone is sleeping in the extra half hour," she said, looking at them curiously. "In case you'd forgotten." This was, naturally, the only reason the assistant cook could imagine they'd be awake and downstairs by now.

"Right. Thank you, Daisy," said Mrs. Hughes primly.

"Since you're up, would you like me to get you anything to eat?"

Mrs. Hughes stomach churned and she didn't think she could handle food. She was about to turn down the request when a thought occurred to her. "Is there any coffee?" she asked optimistically.

That was a strange request for her. Daisy frowned, "I'm afraid we haven't any left. Oh, I know! There is some orange juice if you like?"

"NO!" came the emphatic answer from the pair of them. Daisy blinked.

"I mean, no thank you Daisy. I think we'll wait for breakfast," said Mrs. Hughes weakly.

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes," said Daisy, skipping away, letting the door fall shut with a bang.

Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes stood in silence for a moment. "That was close," she remarked.

"Far too close," agreed Mr. Carson.

There was an awkward pause. Both felt like they deserved to be reprimanded, neither able to find the right words to smooth things over. He watched as she repined her hair properly, thinking that despite his pounding headache all he wanted was to pull her into his arms and kiss her again. He took a step towards her, but the room spun and he was forced to sit down right where he stood. She collapsed back onto the floor next to him, what little energy she had already spent.

Mr. Carson sighed. Any other time he would be mortified to be sprawled on the floor, but he couldn't manage it. "Mrs. Hughes, how old are we?"

"Too old for this let me tell you."

"Are you alright? I feel dreadful and I've got several stone on you."

"Yes, but I hold my liquor better than you so I figure it evens out."

He opened his mouth, presumably to throw a witty retort back at her, but quickly closed it as his stomach roiled. There was a basin stored in the bottom of the cupboard within arms reach and she handed it to him. "Don't go proving me right now," she warned him.

"Thank you," he managed through gritted teeth. "We ought to talk about this," she said practically.

He didn't dare open his mouth so he nodded, clutching the basin tightly. Another way of nausea hit her and she contemplated snatching it from his hands.

"But later," she groaned, pressing her forehead to her knees. How in God's name could drink make one feel so terrible? She'd had a few too many glasses of wine once in her youth and it had loosened her tongue and made her dizzy, but it hadn't made her feel half so awful as she did now.

"Agreed," said Mr. Carson, finally steady enough to relinquish the basin. He placed it at her feet. "Tell you what. I won't be ill, if you won't be ill."

She looked at the basin resolutely. "Mr. Carson, you have yourself a bargain."

They sat in silence for a short time, trying to keep their promises. In her mind she knew that she should be thinking about the consequences of last night, about the feelings of the man beside her, but she couldn't. She felt too terrible. Eventually she realized the exercise was pointless. "I'm going to wash up," she told him, picking herself up off the floor.

"Good idea..." he said absently. "I'm going to...sit here for a minute."

"I'll see you at breakfast?"

"Yes, breakfast," he said. Clumsily she took a few steps and squared her shoulders. Today was going to take considerably more resolve than usual.

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><p>There was slightly more chatter than typical at breakfast, what with the whole staff back together again. Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes could barely abide by the usual quiet scraping of cutlery on plates, but they could hardly ask them to stop without drawing attention to themselves. He refrained from buttering her toast like he usually did, instead passing a dry slice that she nibbled on it gratefully. He sipped his tea very slowly and both of them passed on the eggs. No one else seemed to notice the rather sparse breakfast the two of them had, or if they did they kept their observation to themselves.<p>

There was much to be done that morning so like it or not they were both thrown into their jobs, stomachs and minds still very much whirling from the night before. Mrs. Hughes didn't know which was worse: her headache and nausea or the worried knot in the pit of her stomach. They had been unwell when they'd woken up; he probably didn't even know what he was saying. She certainly wasn't entirely sure what she'd said to him. But she knew exactly what she wanted. Last night had given her a taste of what it could be like to be Charles and Elsie and she wanted very much to feel that way again. Though possibly less inebriated the next time around.

She found a Beechams powder for herself after breakfast and snuck into his pantry to place one on his desk for him while he was away serving the upstairs breakfast. Later she returned from her rounds to find a scrawled note – two words: "Thank You, -CC" and a plate of digestive biscuits and a glass of water on her side table. That was when the knot in the pit of her stomach started to unwind somewhat. He was still the Charles Carson she'd always known; this hadn't changed everything for the worse.

In fact, she thought as she munched on a digestive and considered the unusual signature on his note, it might just change everything for the better.

It would be almost six hours later before they managed to have a moment alone together. He went to her sitting room after luncheon because he knew she usually looked over the household accounts then and assumed they were less likely to be disturbed.

"Are you well?" he asked, after ensuring the door was properly closed.

"Better than this morning," she said grimly. "Not sure I would say 'well'" She stood up from her desk and took a seat beside the side table, gesturing to him that he was welcome to sit down. "And you?" she asked, looking him over. He looked a little green, but she doubted she would have seen it if she hadn't known to look.

"I have a confession," he said.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You were sick to your stomach."

"In the second floor servants bath."

She hesitated for a split second before adding her own confession. "In the potted plant in the East hall."

He showed no sign of surprise, but he wasn't finished. "And once in the gardens behind the large oak tree."

"Twice," she added.

"Twice?"

"In the potted plant," she clarified. "It was that or an antique vase."

"Ah. A wise choice."

"I thought so. I've had it cleaned up already."

"As have I. At least we are efficient."

There was a beat. If the emotional situation they found themselves in weren't so terrifying they likely would have burst out laughing. Instead she gave a pained smile. "We are a right mess, Mr. Carson."

He smiled despite himself at the memory of her slurring those exact words the night before, gripping his shirt, her hair slipping from it's bun. "A right mess indeed," he agreed. His own unprofessionalism astonished him. His indiscretion appalled him. But she wasn't cross with him and this confused and excited him no end. He looked at her across the table, her clear blue eyes watching him back.

"Elsie..." he said slowly, for it were Elsie he wanted to have a conversation with. "What should we do?"

She had as good as told him his affections were welcome, but she was not entirely certain he'd truly meant them. She'd tried to tell herself that she would be alright if it had just been a spur of the moment thing, if it hadn't mean anything to him and he wished to forget it. She was certain after his behavior that morning that they would be able to carry on as friends, but she knew in her heart she would be devastated if that were what he wanted.

"Charles...I understand if you think it was...a mistake."

"It was a mistake."

"Oh." Her eyes cast to the floor.

"No!" he said quickly, catching her expression. "Not like that. It was a mistake...Elsie." He needed her to look at him and apprehensively she did. "It was a mistake for it to come out like that. That's all."

"For it to come out like that?" She thought she knew what he was getting at, but needed to hear him say it. She needed to hear him say it in the cold light of day, without any mitigating factors, to be absolutely sure.

Mr. Carson took a deep breath. There was no point in pretending otherwise, practically every line had been smashed to smithereens anyway. "That I love you. It was a mistake for you to find out that I love you like that."

Mrs. Hughes bit her lip, almost shyly. "Charles, I do not believe you ever told me that you loved me last night."

He realized with a start that she was right, he hadn't. There had been no declarations, no promises, no intentions stated. He just kissed her. How terribly backward all of this was! He closed his eyes in dismay, thinking she deserved so much better than that, so much better than him.

"I've done this all wrong. Elsie I'm so sorry," he said, looking abashed. "I wish I could turn back time, do it all over again. I imagined this moment so many times and it was never like this."

The fact that he had imagined it at all made her stomach flutter, and not in the unpleasant way it had all morning. She smiled at him.

"So do it again the way you wanted. You as good as know how I feel," she said. Her eyes sparkled and his heart swelled with affection. How he had come to deserve her he would never know. She knew he was deeply unhappy, if not with what had happened at least with the manner in which it had. While she was simply happy just hearing him say that he loved her, no matter how 'backwards' he thought it was she knew he would never be satisfied. Why not invite him to say it again?

Mr. Carson considered the kindhearted woman sitting across from him for a second, hardly daring to believe his luck. He stood up and walked over to her chair, towering over her, holding out his hand. She took it and let him help her up, her body inches away from his, clasping both his hands tightly. He looked down at her adoringly, and she could feel her heart beating noticeably faster in her chest.

"Elsie Hughes," he began in his deep rumbling voice. "You are the most beautiful and extraordinary person I've ever met, and I have loved you silently for far too long. I know that I've no right to say such things, but I cannot keep them from you anymore. I love you."

"Oh, Charles," she said, blinking back the happy tears that crept up unexpectedly on her. "You have every right, I love you."

A lump formed in his throat as she said this, while she looked caught somewhere between laughter and tears. He cupped her face in his great hands, warmth radiating through every part of him She loved him. _She loved him. _He'd always thought, always hoped, maybe even known on some level, but to hear her say it brought him unprecedented joy.

He bent his head to kiss her, his lips moving closer and closer, but just before they were to meet hers he stopped. Froze. She looked deep into his eyes, questioningly. He stroked her cheek gently with his thumb. "May I?" he whispered reverently.

Feeling his warm breath upon her cheek, being close enough to inhale his scent made her quiver with anticipation. She smiled softly at him. "Of course."

Permission formally granted and finally something feeling somewhat proper again, he captured her lips with his. They were warm and soft, just as he remembered, but it was different. It was so _gloriously _different. Their kisses the night before may have been earnest, but they had also been sloppy and this was anything but. He kissed her gently, carefully, eventually opening his mouth every so slightly so that he might run his tongue across her lower lip. Her hands made their way up slowly his chest, winding around his neck, pulling him closer. It was a kiss of pure adoration, long felt but never properly expressed until just now.

Eventually they were forced to break apart for air and he pressed her close to him, trying in vain to catch his breath, to control his rapidly beating heart. "Elsie?" he murmured. She'd turned her head to rest her cheek on his chest, delighting in feeling his voice rumbling through her as he spoke her name.

"Yes, Charles?" Being in his arms made her feel exactly as dizzy and elated as last night, but now it was from the certainty of his love for her.

"Marry me?"

"Like you had to ask," she replied, rising up on her tiptoes to kiss him again. He almost lost himself, before rapidly coming back down to earth and pulling away sharply. Mrs. Hughes blinked in surprise.

"Oh, God. Elsie, I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head.

"Whatever for?" she cried. He had moved back two paces and she already missed him. What on earth could possibly have gone wrong now?

Charles looked at the ground. "Well once again I'm completely backwards. I've no ring, I didn't even get down on one knee, hardly a proper marriage proposal."

She would have laughed if he weren't so serious. She took as step closer to him and reached up to touch his cheek fondly. "I give second chances not third ones, Charles. I'm afraid that proposal is going to have to do because I believe I have already accepted."

"What?"

"You heard me."

He looked down at her hesitantly. "You mean it?"

"No, I'm lying to sink my soul, of course I mean it!" She did, she would marry him in a heartbeat if he asked and so he had. But she'd never expected it to happen quite so rapidly. Why twenty-four hours ago she was still waiting for him to return home, hoping they might have a nice friendly chat, and look where they were! Perhaps that was the reason for his confusion; perhaps he could read how overwhelming it all was on her face.

"It's just all a little...sudden," she conceded.

"Yes, I suppose it is."

"Not that I mind," she said quickly.

"Neither do I." A very long time coming, but how quickly it had all tumbled out. The reality of what he was suggesting was only beginning to hit him. When he had been kissing her it had all been so clear, but now all the obstacles started to appear in his mind. Butlers weren't married. Housekeepers weren't married. They were going to lose their jobs.

"What will we tell them?"

She'd seen the gears turning in his head and she knew exactly what he meant.

"I don't entirely know..." She could hear Lord Grantham in her mind already. It just wasn't done.

"It's not done," he said, echoing her thoughts. "Maybe in the London, maybe in certain circles, but here...it's just not done."

He looked at her nervously. "I don't think I'm ready to leave Downton Elsie, not yet at any rate."

"Nor I. Not yet."

He was starting to feel very anxious; he didn't see a way for them to keep each other and their jobs. "If we tell his Lordship we are married, surely we'll both the sacked. Immediately. I love you, Elsie, but we cannot have that."

"No we cannot," she agreed thoughtfully.

He blithered on, working himself into a panic. "It's just not done, there's nothing for it. Either we must leave or we must forget it. Maybe we ought to forget all about it. Only for a little while. What else can we do?!"

"Steady on, Charles! No needed to throw the baby out with the bathwater."

"But, but-"

One of them needed to be calm. Neither of them felt particularly calm, but she was steadier and the more he fussed the harder she worked to bring forth some sort of pragmatic logic to the whole thing.

"Charles." she said firmly. "Do you wish to marry me?"

"More than anything," he said earnestly. He is sure of that at least. She smiled reflexively.

"Must it happen tomorrow?"

"Of course not."

"Then there is no need to tell anyone anything right now."

She had a very good point and he felt himself relax some. "But eventually-" he protested.

"Yes," she said, silencing him with a gentle hand on his chest. "Eventually we will tell them. When we wish. But until then we are simply engaged and I don't see anything wrong with that being our secret. Just Charles and Elsie's secret."

"Just Charles and Elsie's secret," he said softly, placing his hands on her waist, pulling her closer to him. "I think I can live with that."

"I'm happy to hear it," she said, the butterflies back in her stomach at his nearness. He beamed down at her. "Shall we drink to it?"

Mrs. Hughes never did figure out how when she went to smack him for his cheeky remark she ended up kissing him instead.


	3. Just Charles and Elsie

**The epilogue. A little closure, for them and for us. **

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><p><strong>Part III – Just Charles and Elsie<strong>

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><p>'Just Charles and Elsie's secret' stayed just Charles and Elsie's secret for a remarkably long time. They agreed that they would tell everyone when they were ready to be married and retire from Downton and not before. They had waited some twenty years to speak their true affections for each other and they could wait a few years more to have it all done up 'proper.' If anything, the pair enjoyed their rather lengthy and private courtship composed of long-winded love letters (mostly from him), copious amounts of teasing (mostly from her) and a great many stolen kisses in his pantry before bedtime. For the most part they remained Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes, the butler and housekeeper of Downton Abbey, but every once in a while, when they were well and truly alone, they were permitted to be just Charles and Elsie.<p>

They had a few close calls, but they were incredibly careful and in the end there was nothing truly incriminating ever witnessed. They would reflect later that this was a small miracle, but never mind. The only people who whispered questions about the pair of them were the new members of the staff they took on, as they were often unaccustomed to seeing a butler and a housekeeper so close, so perfectly in tune with each other. More than one asked if they were married only to be scoffed at by the older staff for such a ridiculous suggestion. 'That's just the way they are' was the response, 'think nothing of it'. Rumours were squashed without either the butler or the housekeeper having to lift a finger, amusing the two them no end.

Eventually Charles and Elsie decided they wanted to be only Charles and Elsie and it was time for the rest of the house to know. Retirement was looming, and seemed a much more attractive prospect for Charles, knowing that he would spend it happily with her. When they were good and ready the announcement was made, they would be retiring six week hence and they would be married in six and half if anyone would care to come. Naturally, the entire house turned out for the very modest and very happy event, showering them in so many well wishes that it bordered on overwhelming for them both. At one point after the ceremony Charles bemoaned that they ought to have eloped, and almost immediately the Dowager Countess herself came over to congratulate him. After this he elected to be silent on the subject, while his new wife tried diligently not to laugh at him.

Upon their original announcement, unbeknownst initially to the happy couple, the staff set up a betting pool as to how long it had been going on. When Mrs. Patmore finally wheedled the truth out of a begrudging Mrs. Carson everyone was surprised to find out that Daisy had won. Everyone that is, except for Daisy, who never told anyone the reason for her guess. She did, however, ensure that orange juice was served at the wedding breakfast, causing both of the newlyweds to blush and laugh at what they sincerely thought was their own private joke. Daisy wasn't entirely sure what she had done, but the smiles on their faces were more than enough satisfaction for her.

The Carsons, as they were generally referred to together from then on, took up residence in a cottage on the estate, not far from the Abbey itself. It was small, but cozy and very quickly it felt like theirs. Charles never thought he would think of anything other than Downton Abbey as being 'home' but a few weeks into retirement it was already more like home to him than anything he could remember. Elsie found she had entirely forgotten the concept of home until the discovery that home was wherever he was. She could be right at home in Timbuktu so long as he was there with her, but the cottage suited them nicely. It was not far off the road, close enough to the Abbey that they had not-infrequent visitors and giving them easy access to town. Mrs. Carson discovered she quite liked gardening and Mr. Carson developed a penchant for bird watching, a luxury he never thought he'd indulge in, but he soon became quite taken with it. The only thing he was more taken with was his wife, whose laughter and affection he sought morning, noon and night. They delighted in their life together finally free of any inhibition. Now that he was free to shout his love for her from the rooftops if he so wished, he found himself still whispering the words to her in private, like before. The truest depth of his affection was still a secret that only she was privy to, for only she that loved him so deeply back would ever understand.

And every year since that fateful one, when the barriers they'd once built between them had been clumsily smashed away, they poured a tiny, measured amount of vodka into a bit of juice and raised a toast; to health, to love, to happiness. To 'just Charles and Elsie'.

Then, after both pretending to take a sip, they poured it into their potted plant and had a lovely glass of wine instead, because neither of them could actually drink the vile stuff for the rest of their long and happy lives.

~ The End ~


End file.
